Checkmate
by Sentimentalthoughts
Summary: The story takes place after Shane confronts Steve at the end of Higher Ground. It is told from Steve's perspective but also at his expense. Some of the details referenced aren't from SSD but parallel the letters that I wrote from Shane to Oliver. I am working on stories about Shane and Oliver reading the letters. First, I wanted to settle the score with Marek.


The story takes place after Shane confronts Steve at the end of Higher Ground. It is told from Steve's perspective but also at his expense. Some of the details referenced aren't from SSD but parallel the letters that I wrote from Shane to Oliver.

It was only 3:30 in the afternoon, when Steve walked into the empty bar; but as the old saying goes, "it's five o'clock somewhere." The Hanger was a classic: rich mahogany paneling, booths – framed in the same mahogany and upholstered with button tufted black leather. A stained glass transom that allowed only flittered rose-cast light to enter crowned the large double doors with their polished brass handles. By 5:15 it would be filled – primarily with men who were looking for a reprieve from the stress of the day. Steve wasn't looking for a reprieve. He was looking for a complete forfeiture.

He ordered a beer and a shot, loosened his tie, and took a seat in a booth at the back of the bar. He knew winning Shane back wouldn't be easy but he thought that this time he **would** win. He was accustomed to winning. He wasn't accustomed to losing. Today he lost.

At first it wasn't about winning or losing, it was about the crisis at hand. At least that is what he told himself.

As soon as he received notice of the situation with links to postal security, he immediately thought of her. She had the skills needed for the job and already had a high-level security clearance. She could be on a plane as an emergency asset in 24 hours. After all, she had helped once before for a brief time when she worked in direct line operations in D.C. It was how they met.

When he flew to Denver to get her, to recruit her, he told himself that it was a decision based on national security. That it was purely professional. She was an emergency asset that he just happened to have dated.

Sitting in the bar, his mind went back to that cold, damp night as he waited on her porch for her to return home.

"So D.C. was traded in for this porch swing. It even squeaks. Where is she anyway?" Steve had thought to himself. But the longer he waited the angrier he became.

He thought about how he saw them coming down the street – laughing, talking, arm in arm. She had been insulting from the beginning. He asked to speak to her in private and she said no – just blurted it out. He had to make his request known in front the incredible Mr. O'Toole.

But somewhere between D.C. and Denver, between intentions being purely professional and painfully personal, Steve threw down the gauntlet and he was playing to win.

"Oliver didn't even kiss her goodbye and there I stood wanting to kiss her hello. And she goes running back to Denver for a squeaking porch swing." Said Steve aloud to no one in the bar.

On the plane everything already seemed to settle into place. On their flight overseas she had fallen asleep. Her head had rested right beside his. She was just close enough that he could smell her perfume. Like a lingering fragrance, the memories of their past selectively filled his mind.

Their relationship had been lightening a bottle. Dancing in D.C. Dining out in Georgetown. Jogging together along the Potomac in the spring. Going to the Nationals baseball games in the summer – having box seats no less. Whenever it was convenient for him, she was there.

It had been an exciting time in his life. He was racing off all over the world at a moment's notice with the CIA and the beautiful, smiling blond had been there to greet him when he came flying home. She was warm and funny. Sharp and adoring. And then…she was gone.

He nodded at the bartender, signaling for a second round.

Sure, he never offered commitment. Sure, he would seemingly disappear for weeks at a time. But now, he was settled. Now he missed her. Now he had time. Now it could be different.

But she had chosen Denver over D.C. What was she doing with her life? She was wasting it away in a Dead Letter Office. Appropriate name – DEAD. How could she possibly choose some stodgy, postal worker over an – an ex-spy, a valuable government operative? That's like choosing a four-door sedan over a sports car. He shook his head in disbelief.

"Where is that waiter? Hey, Tommy, take care of this," he said handing him the empty glass.

"Yes sir, Mr. Marek."

He had not pushed himself on her when they were out of the country. He was just there, day in and day out – the perfect gentleman - sharing lunches, sharing dinners, sharing jokes, sharing the successes of their extraordinary work. When danger neared, he had been her security. He was willing to die to protect her. AND she knew it. Where was her knight in shining mailbox then?

One day she walks into his office and wants to leave. Time to go home she said. They argued. He knew that he lost that battle but he thought that he was winning the war. No, he was sure of it. He had planted seeds of doubt against the man of faith, Oliver O'Toole. He made her question that Oliver even cared about her. He saw the doubt in her eyes. Score one point for the man from D.C.

All she needed was to remember what life was like with him, to see all that he could offer. If Denver was out of sight, it would be out of mind. But even his slight of hand couldn't make Denver and all that it meant to her disappear.

He planned an entire party for her birthday. The team didn't throw that party – he did. And to think she refused his present because "Oliver wouldn't like it." Three times he tried to give her that very expensive gift. He had purchased a 14k gold, limited edition, anklet with signature heart from Tiffany's while on assignment in Miami. He was going to give it to her when he returned to D.C. He returns, only she is gone - vanished to Denver. Marek – strike one.

It can't be over. When he wanted something he went after it. Keep your eye on the ball. Stay in the game.

He flies to Denver and takes her to Montaldo's, thinking he would put it on her ankle that night. And what happens? The relationship ends instead. Marek – a swing and a miss, strike two.

Finally, she comes to D.C. and calls him. She calls him! He had the gift in his pocket that night when they met over drinks. He takes her hand, trying to make his move, and guess who walks in? The Boy Scout, the perfect Mr. O'Toole of course, comes in with his disapproving glare. Strike three – and Marek is out.

Maybe he needs a new game - a new game with new rules – more like football. Protect the ball, control the ball, keep the ball away from the opponent. She catches the pass and you win. It's simple. She'll play when the name of the game is national security.

Protect her – you've got that covered – automatic first down.

Control her – no outside contact – another first down.

Keep her away from Oliver – that's worth 20 yards.

Ready for the game winning pass – throw a party for her birthday, she is 1000's of miles from Denver, and give her the anklet.

Hut, hut, hike – and he fumbles the ball - or the anklet.

"Oliver wouldn't like it," she says.

"I don't care if Oliver doesn't like it. I didn't buy it for him. Oliver O'fool probably doesn't even know what an anklet is," he thought as he emptied another glass.

If he could have kept her at Langley just another 6 days he could offer her a permanent position – just 6 days – 6 more days until he got final approval. Once again, who walks into the building and just when she walks into the lobby and can see him? Of course, It's the man with unquestionable integrity, Oliver O'Toole, and his perfect timing.

Mr. O'Toole intercepted his pass.

Another loss for the man from D.C.

Oh who was he kidding? He knew whom he was kidding – it was himself.

"Hey Tommy, I'm the only customer. Keep 'em coming."

"Mr. Marek, you ok?"

"Never been better. I just lost a woman to a guy who, a guy who probably never drank a beer in his whole life."

"Here's to His girl, uhm," he mumbled.

The final round of this Marek-induced competition was more like a chess match. In chess, the king may be the most valuable piece but the queen has the most power. She has the power to move anywhere, in any direction, as many spaces as she chooses. This queen was moving back to Denver.

Steve had become the king of deception. He knew deep down that when all this started that the number one person to whom he had lied had been himself.

He got the attention of the waiter, lifted his empty glass, and signaled for another round.

The look on her face when he said "I'm still in love with you" haunted him. It was a look somewhere between pity and disgust.

If the look on her face wasn't bad enough, her words finished him. He could hear every word she spoke as if she were sitting across from him now. As she spoke, he watched the pieces on the board fall one by one – the pawn, the rook, the knight, the bishop.

"Love me? Oh Steve, whatever was between us has been over for a long time. I thought that I made it clear. So let me tell you once and for all. I don't ask you to understand the choices that I have made. But they are my choices. I learned about life, I learned about living – working in a dead letter office. I've learned about faith and hope and even love – real love.

Real love doesn't demand its own way and it certainly doesn't lie to get it. You have been lying to me. Whatever this is, it isn't love.

And as for Oliver, you will never speak against him to me, ever again, under any circumstance. Oliver O'Toole is a good and decent man, a man of unquestionable integrity, a man of faith. Maybe he doesn't always come out and say what he means. And maybe you don't understand what he means when he says it, but I do.

Maybe he doesn't love me. Maybe he will never be in love with me. But I have missed him every single day that we have been apart – every single day.

Steve, I am not saying these things to hurt you but to be perfectly clear. I'm leaving D.C. I am going back to Denver. I'm going back to Oliver as quickly as I can get cleared and get a flight. If you ever loved me, you will release me immediately. If you won't, I'm just going over your head and leave anyway. Do you want to make this easy or difficult?"

Easy or difficult? There was nothing easy about it.

There were no more moves to be made. It was over.

Checkmate. The queen left standing on the board did not belong to him. The match and the queen belong to Mr. O'Toole.

"Tommy." And he held up another empty glass.


End file.
